Haven't you ever noticed that life is like a series of movies?

She looks sad. She looks angry. She looks different from everyone else I know—she cannot put on that happy face others wear when they know they are being watched. She doesn’t put on a face for me, which makes me trust her somehow.

You can lose yourself in repetition—quiet your thoughts; I learned the value of this at a very young age.

If clouds are blocking the sun, there will always be a silver lining that reminds me to keep on trying.

I feel like I’m broken—like I don’t fit together anymore. Like there’s no more room for me in the world or something. Like I’ve overstayed my welcome here on Earth, and everyone’s trying to give me hints about that constantly. Like I should just check out.

Also, I sort of let my appearance go, to the point where I was maybe ten to seventy pounds overweight.

Did you ever think about all of the nights you lived through and can't remember The ones that were so mundane your brain just didn't bother to record them. Hundreds, maybe thousands of nights come and go without being preserved by our memory. Does that ever freak you out? Like maybe your mind recorded all of the wrong nights?